There comes a time in every girl’s life when they wake up out of a coma, an emotional one. After a breakup, ladies generally go through phases adorned with regret-filled guts, tear-sodden tissues, ice cream-filled bellies and sweater-wrapped backs; it’s just a cliche process to go through. However, when all the shenanigans is said and done, there comes a moment of realization.

This moment begins with a thought, one of your past lovers. At one point you realized you haven’t been thinking of them since however long it has been. “How?” you ask yourself. Usually, the thought of them is like that song on your iTunes library that you just can’t seem to get over: always on repeat, reaching a play count of hundreds or even thousands.

After said thought, you begin to think about them more. This particular train of thought is of no surprise to you, for you’ve almost known it by heart. Therefore, you wait for the unpleasant feelings that usually follows: more nausea, more regret, and more remorse. Surprisingly, it never came.

Jump off that train of thought and consider this: why not? They’ve put you in an emotional unconsciousness for God knows how long. They’ve been responsible for the mascara-stained pillow (not that I had any, for the record) and eerily gut-wrenching poems sprawled throughout your coma. How can you think of this person, whom you throw your heart to so earnestly once, and suddenly, ineffably, feel nothing at all?

How indeed.

Seeking for that lost feeling, you ponder on your memories of them; their gaze, their embrace, their hallmarks. Out on a limb, you may even imagine them with another, one who took your place.

Still, nothing. No gut-wrenching feeling, no breath holding, no heart thumping.

Cue sigh of relief.

Finally. Welcome back, welcome home. You can finally stop avoiding photos for fear of a breakdown. You can finally listen to that one song without having to go through episodes of nostalgic fantasies of them. You are free.

It’s a scary thought to think about, though, this newfangled indifference. Once upon a time they were the aching objects of your words, and you were the poignant being trembling upon crumpled bedsheets. They were the gist of your lamentable proses, and you, the wordsmith formulating said proses. But now, you no longer recognize those people, both you and them.

It has come to my knowledge that whenever we humans got our hearts hurt, we have a specific response: we don’t want to just feel the damage caused by a person, but we want to let the person know just how much damage they had caused (even with healthy breakups, the idea of it offers some comfort, but a breakup nonetheless). We look for some validation of our pain. We want them to feel just as forlorn and splintery as we do. However, instead of reciprocals of our feelings, we found indifference instead. This feeling of indifference is what helps us cleanse ourselves from the pollutants sedimenting in our system.

I don’t exactly know what causes us to finally feel this torrent of nonchalance, but I think it’s just our heart coming to terms with a decision our heads made a long time ago. In consequence, the past doesn’t seem brighter anymore because now the present is finally okay.

(What felt like) decades ago, I wrote about time being a healer of sorts. I guess, somewhere along the way, time finished its duty. Time to move on.